Funny Photo Friday: Don't you always feel short on outlets?

From a work project in Newcastle. I think the electrical contractor went a little crazy here.

OK, we've been busy lately mowing a lawn (not ours), painting a house (also not ours), and driving all over the middle of our Sweet Land of Liberty, so we failed to notice that a few of the posts weren't properly linked to their longer versions. Should all be fixed good and proper now, so feel free to go back and (re)check them out.

On not taking GPS/SatNav

The idea for this trip has been several years in the making, beginning with the hope that it could serve as a follow up to our tour through Asia. We envisioned an American style road trip (whatever exactly that means), drifting from town to town along the Mediterranean coast, windows down, warm weather, wind in our hair; you know, that kind of thing. Anyway, in our shared vision of this trip a central part of the whole ordeal is a map.
Read the rest...
Shortly before Megan left Amsterdam at the beginning of our trip, her kindly cousin offered us the use of her GPS. It was a tempting and generous offer but one we felt obligated to decline because it would go against the nature of what we wanted our trip to be. The trip, we thought, should be a confusing venture, there should be detours, wrong turns, and having to stop and ask for directions. It should be a little painful; there is something to be said about navigating the roads ourselves. And besides, some of those side towns and out of the way places are exactly where we wanted to end up. This is to say nothing of our culture's incredible attachment to the Internet and connectivity. We felt that surely an adventure like this deserved to be done in the ways of our predecessors, no gadgets, nothing telling us which way to go (and to some extent what to do); just us, a rather poor map, and the good ol' Saxo.

And in the end, we are both still happy with our decision. It certainly did lead to more squabbling at times. Marital strife was running high as we got lost in dense and dirty Athens, for example, but we are glad we found our way as we went. We liked those moment when we discovered we were obviously not supposed to have turned down that road half a mile back and the following actions of staring at the map, debating, staring some more, and then going and asking the sheep herder for directions.

Albania was rife with these moments and was a great example of the pleasure gained when we simply stopped and asked someone for directions. You get an amazing response when you step out of your car with your (poor quality) map, asking about a town you can barely pronounce, all the while hoping you are on the right road based on the one sign you saw 23 miles ago. We were always impressed with and grateful for people's generosity in helping (and their surprising versatility in English) and left all the encounters feeling better about humanity.

So in the end we stand by our decision not to take GPS/SatNav, though there were times we kicked ourselves for not having it. It may not be the best thing for a relationship, but it does add a layer of authenticity and real interaction to the trip.

A Cornocopia of Videos

These were taken through the trip, just thought we'd share; afterall who doesn't like other people's home movies?

When we discovered our Macro lens worked for videos too. On the confluence of the Black Sea and Bosphorous River, Turkey
(Between Paris and Normandy)


Vikos National Park, Greece

Josh climbing down a waterfall whilst Megan doesn't help but watches expitently for him to fall, forgive the sideway-ness. Vikos National Park, Greece

Papal Palace in Avigion, France

This is the Sea Organ. It waves from the sea force air through pipes creating a great and rather haunting sound. Zadar, Croatia

Metera, Italy

Another 'Welcoming Summer' video Istanbul, Turkey

Stories We Haven't Been Able to Tell: Always go back to ask what’s in the strawberry tart.

On the 5th of May, we left an Istanbul bakery well satisfied and slightly enamored by the Turkish coffee, baklava and strawberry tart we’d just eaten. We were debating whether to ask the very friendly clerk what made the custard in their tart so unique, but he was busy helping someone. We hesitated in that way you do when deciding whether to ask for help or directions and finally took the easy path- we left. A few yards down the sidewalk, we turned around and decided to ask anyway, even if we had to wait. Along with an invitation to visit the store the next day while the pastry chef was present, the 20-something man asked us what we were doing that night and told us about a festival taking place not far from our hotel. It was Hidrellez, a traditional celebration of late spring, welcoming warm weather and light evenings.
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We followed the little map he’d drawn and headed for a park along the sea. It was packed with thousands of people, mostly families and young adults buying tickets for food from local, well-known restaurant booths (including the one we’d been to for dinner and the pastry shop we’d just left), drinking local beer, listening to live music, and basically hanging out. We found a tent with traditional folk music and spent a good hour entertained by all the people singing along at the top of their lungs and dancing steps and motions everyone seemed to know. We both felt a tinge of jealousy of their shared cultural experience, wishing the United States had old, well-known songs in which both young and old could so physically participate, and not in a half-embarrassed Chicken Song kinda way.

The festival was made even more interesting by all the “decorations.” Tradition calls for people to write down their biggest wishes for the coming year on little slips of paper to be tied to a special “wish tree.” Then, to make the wishes come true, you jumped over fire. We didn’t see much fire (just fireworks), but there were hundreds of people hanging wishes written on the backs of receipts, on colored paper, on sheets pulled from a ruled spiral notebook, on specially designed computer paper complete with printed pictures. All the ribbons and cloth and paper on the trees made the night seem even more magical.

This story has a lesson. We hadn’t seen (or noticed) any signs for the festival, and the actual event was not taking place on the route to anywhere. We saw very few tourists and felt part of something very uniquely Turkish. But we would’ve missed the whole thing if we hadn’t stuck our heads out, turned around, and gone back to ask what was in the strawberry tart. Kinda makes me wonder what else we’ve missed along the way…

Funny Photo Friday: More Road Signs

Stories We Haven't Been Able to Tell: The Old Man in Kotor

An old man slowly shuffles out to our small and battered tent with an unmarked bottle in hand. We've just arrived in another country, Montenegro this time, finally found a campsite next to the most gorgeous fjord I've ever seen, had dinner, and are watching the sunset as he approaches. Without words he simply holds up the bottle, a shot glass, and smiles. This is the guy who runs the campsite; what a place.
Read about the place...
We originally heard about the campground through some vague directions given to us by a very nice Belgian couple we met in Albania. After we told them we didn't have GPS, an intentional choice we only occasionally regretted, they figured they could still probably get us there, though they seemed a bit more skeptical. Turns out they had spent a few nights 'camping on this old man's lawn' outside the beautiful walled city of Kotor. 'It is a beautiful place, though there aren't really showers and only one toilet, and you are kind of just in the middle of his yard but it is beautiful,' the wife said. 'And cheap!,' the husband threw in for good measure.

So our first night in Montenegro we set off to find this place with little more than a village name and a rough description. We ended up passing the thing twice before we finally noticed an old abandoned trailer in corner of his property and saw that it really was just a front yard with a toilet and shower in the corner, but what a yard. It is set right on the edge of the Kotor Fjord and a ten minute drive to Kotor itself. There was only an outdoor shower, one working toilet, and our agreeable host. The man spoke no English (which we didn't expect he would) but he could get out a few phrases of broken Italian, to which we'd respond in Spanish. He showed us around, asked about our relationship and age (apparently we looked too young to be married), and then had a brief chat about politics (who knew there were McCain supporters in Montenegro) before we set up camp.

The rest of the our stay was rather pleasant and uneventful, we saw the sights of Kotor the next day, watched a wedding parade march by as we had lunch, and chatted with the old man again that night. In retrospect, this moment and place weren't that special, it did not change my life or lead to a divine epiphany but it did touch on an elusive sentiment. As we drank an unknown liquid with an 86 year old man watching the last bit of the sun dip behind the mountains I thought to myself, 'This is why we came here, this is why we travel.'

Stories We Haven't Been Able to Tell: Tag-along

One morning in France, we noticed a lovely spider web had been constructed over our passenger (left) side mirror. The web blew away in the mighty winds of 90 kph driving (about 55 mph) that day, but remnants remained when we reached our afternoon destination. The next morning, we noticed another intricate web had replaced the one destroyed. The next day? Same thing. And the following? There it was again! Eventually we spotted the same set of spindly legs above the mirror every morning and realized we had a tag-along.

Each night for the next seven weeks, the same spider would build a web across the mirror, increasing the complexity and scope for each night spent in the same place, and then retreat to a secret home behind the mirror once we got moving again. The day the car headed back to England, the spider was still there, as was his most recent masterpiece. We’re hoping the British hedges and shiny cars don’t entice him to move. It’s a good time to refinance and stay put anyway.

Funny Photo Friday: A new kind of environmentalism

the airport in Istnabul

Funny Photo Friday: Only the French...

... would have a road side vending machine for freshly baked bread.
Mont St Michel, France

State of the Blog

Today we fly from Amsterdam to Chicago to Grand Rapids, Michigan, officially closing the European chapter of our lives. It's tough to leave a place, even tougher to leave without one last glimpse of the place you are leaving. We both wish we were leaving from Durham/Newcastle instead of Amsterdam. We wish we could hear a Geordie accent again, steal a glance at the cathedral, and eat one last chicken bake (yes, Brits, pies have their place). Oh well. We will settle with today being the Big Day we leave Europe more generally and mourn our loss while looking forward to a summer of catching up with our American selves. (Beyond that: TBD.)

So where does that leave The Blog? Without a foreign subject, will it have enough substance to live on? We are hoping to post some favorite photos and stories from the European roadtrip in the next few weeks, interspersed with the funny photos we've gathered. Once that stream of thought has run its course... then who knows!